


at the shade of your sheets

by softlyforgotten



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, The Young Veins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-23
Updated: 2009-08-23
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:51:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyforgotten/pseuds/softlyforgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writer's block is a curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at the shade of your sheets

This is ridiculous. Brendon can’t even _have_ coffee. He looks like a complete _loser_ ordering a hot chocolate at fucking _Starbucks_ as Brent likes to tell him (again and again. and again. and again), but it’s not like he has any _choice_. He’s not going to _stalk_ the poor kid to find out where else he hangs out. And okay, so he knows the guy comes into Starbucks every day at three thirty, but that’s not _stalking_ , that’s _observing_.

(Not that Jon has been much use in that. You’d think having your roommate _work_ at the Starbucks that your crush frequents would be useful, but Jon was in one of his Enigma moods when Brendon first asked whether the guy came in every day and Brendon had to work it out for himself. Stupid smirky Jon with his stupid smirky enigma thingyness.)

Brendon catches sight of himself in the glass doors and grins over his glasses at himself. He glances over at the boy in the corner and his expression clouds; why does the guy have to have his damn _headphones_ in all the time? Does he even _know_ how hard it is to try and talk to someone when they won’t stop listening to the new Fall Out Boy album (really, really loudly, so that everyone else in Starbucks can hear it too)?

And not to mention Brendon has an inkling that the guy is a bit of a bitch. Once, Brendon smiled at him – the _Brendon_ smile, the _famous_ one! – and the guy only blinked politely and looked away. How unfair was that?

Brendon empties several packets of sugar into his hot chocolate and glares alternately at the table and his reflection in the doors. It’s _totally_ unfair, that’s what it is. He’s got three fucking papers he should be doing and instead he just _knows_ he’s going to spend the rest of the day brooding about iPod Guy. Again. Fuckit.

He drains the last little bit of his drink and makes his way to the door. Abruptly, he is banged forward too fast and in a spectacular feat of klutziness that only he could pull off he simultaneously stumbles backwards, knocking whoever is behind him off backwards, _and_ lurches his head forward so that it bangs, hard, against the door. “Ow,” he says, and automatically turns around to find iPod Guy peering anxiously at him, still a little off balance himself.

“Fuck,” iPod Guy says, biting his lip. Brendon stops concentrating on exactly how iPod Guy’s teeth are making a little dent in his bottom lip just enough to notice how nice iPod Guy’s voice is. “I’m – shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Blurgh,” Brendon says absently, wrenching his gaze away from the guy’s mouth. iPod Guy is doing that weird, slightly bitchy blinking thing at him again. “I mean, no worries, it’s fine.”

“I really am sorry,” iPod Guy says, still biting his lip as though he’s trying _on purpose_ to make Brendon keep thinking about his mouth. “That’s – fuck, that’s really uncool, dude. Er… hey, what if I buy you a coffee or whatever tomorrow to make up for it?”

Brendon is still having trouble moving beyond the blurgh phase. “I don’t drink coffee,” he says stupidly.

“Whatever you drink, then,” the guy says again. He tilts his head to one side, and, apparently deciding that Brendon is this weird normally and hasn’t been particularly hurt by the bump to his head, holds out his hand. “I’m Ryan.”

Brendon shakes his hand awkwardly, eyes large and fixed on Ryan’s face. “Brendon.” He pauses. “Okay, then, tomorrow at…?”

Ryan is already going down the steps into the street, so fast he could be running. “Three thirty,” he tosses over his shoulder. “You always come in at three thirty.”

The last thing Brendon sees before the guy is swallowed by the crowd is the reddest flush he has ever seen creeping over Ryan’s cheeks.

 

 

 

The next day he bounces around his dorm, annoying Jon (who is normally, like, the _best roommate ever_ , and buys him candy and watches Disney movies with him, but is at the moment all grumpy because he’s trying to study) incessantly with questions like “is the pink hoodie too girly, is it?’ and “but he was wearing a v-neck the other day, so he’s pretty girly too, isn’t he?” and “but maybe I should go with the purple, just to be sure?” until Jon shoves him over and sits on his head for a while to calm him down.

At three on the dot, Brendon bounces out the door and catches the bus into the city. He arrives at Starbucks at three twenty-seven, thankful that Jon isn’t working today, goes into the bathroom for a while so that he doesn’t appear early for (“it is not a date, it is not a date,” he chants cheerfully to his reflection in the mirror), before emerging finally with decidedly rumpled hair to find that Ryan is _still_ not here.

He goes up to order his hot chocolate, stomach churning, and when he gives his name the girl smiles brightly. “Oh,” she says, “There was this guy who’s already paid for you, I think. He said his name’s Ryan; and he said to say sorry to you again.”

Brendon’s scowl is positively frightening. He snatches his drink and goes to sit and sulk in Ryan’s usual corner, scrawling IDIOT absently all over his hands.

 

 

 

Ryan doesn’t come back to Starbucks for a week. A whole _week_. Brendon practically stakes out the building, but the familiar albeit muffled sounds of _Infinity On High_ don’t return until the next Thursday, when Brendon _almost_ doesn’t notice except he hears Jon call _Ryan_ (and trying not to laugh).

And he’s bouncing off his chair with his Hello, I Am Cool But Not Crazy grin firmly in place and is wildly grateful for a moment that he has never been that self-conscious. Ryan’s cheeks are pink again, but he turns his iPod off and smiles shyly in return and Brendon wants to laugh for no particular reason other than Ryan is really, really cute when he’s embarrassed.

“Hi,” he says breathlessly, “Hihihi, you stood me up.”

“I bought you your drink,” Ryan says quietly, looking at the floor.

“You did not fulfil the connected implication that you’d be there while I drank it,” Brendon informs him. “And that means I get to buy _you_ a drink and you have to put up with me for, like, at _least_ half an hour.”

“Put up with you?” Ryan says, looking a little dazzled.

“Hi,” Brendon says again, “I’m Brendon. I like The Little Mermaid almost but not quite better than Fall Out Boy. What d’you want to drink?”

 

 

 

They talk a _lot_. About pets and music and The Lion King vs. Aladdin, and whether hot chocolates are better than iced ones, and the advantages of living completely off Smarties around exam time, but not families (“that’s off limits,” Ryan shrugs, and Brendon smiles obligingly) or religion (because Brendon’s _pretty_ sure he knows _exactly_ what his parents would think about him flirting this obviously with another guy).

And at the end, Ryan asks shyly if Brendon wants to come see this local band with him tomorrow night, and Brendon grins and can’t think of a single reason that could possibly make him say no.

 

 

 

Slowly, Brendon manages to trick Ryan into doing practically _everything_ with him, without Ryan actually really noticing at all. Drinks at Starbucks together lengthen into trips to the local music store and then to the movies (where Brendon whispers loudly through the whole thing) and one night Brendon crashes on Ryan’s couch and sort of stays there for the next week, until Ryan refuses to lend him anymore clothes and he’s _forced_ to go back to the dorm.

Eventually it morphs into this bizarre living arrangement which is never, ever discussed but which pretty much consists of Brendon spending half of his nights in his dorm with Jon and the rest of the time on Ryan’s couch. One day he steals Ryan’s key and makes a copy of it, and after that things settle into a pattern of Ryan-and-Brendon (rather than Ryan and Brendon) and everyone’s happy.

One afternoon after class Brendon bounces into Ryan’s flat to find someone else asleep on the couch. Ryan appears out of the kitchen making frantic gestures to be quiet but Brendon’s already bumped (loudly) into three things and the strange guy is sitting up and shoving his hands through his hair.

“Um – what?” the guy says, sleep making his voice sluggish and low. Brendon glares at him. What does he think he’s doing, sleeping on Brendon’s couch?

“Brendon, this is Spencer,” Ryan says with a grin. “Spencer, this is Brendon.”

“Oh,” Spencer says, comprehension dawning, “The one who—” A sharp look is interchanged between the two and Spencer shuts his mouth, looking suddenly mischievous.

Brendon has the feeling he’s made a terrible mistake. “Er, are you two, um, yeah, no?”

Spencer looks horrified, while Ryan makes the face that Brendon knows means he’s trying really hard not to laugh. “Best friends,” Ryan says in a funny, choked voice, “Since we were five.”

Brendon beams, and Spencer looks straight at him in a way that makes Brendon’s smile fade: Spencer seems okay, but he has this way of looking at Brendon that seems to say _hi I know everything you have ever thought and will ever think_ and when Ryan goes to sit on the couch next to him the two have a way of unconsciously leaning together that tells Brendon he’s going to have to be really, really nice when Spencer’s around.

(And he sort of has a hunch as to where Ryan learned his bitchiness from.)

 

 

 

Spencer lives in a flat on the other side of town and takes college quite seriously (especially during exam time), which explains why Brendon hadn’t met him for the first three weeks he and Ryan had been hanging out. Spencer also seems to live during different hours than the rest of the world, meaning that Brendon will wake in early hours of the morning to hear soft conversation coming from Ryan’s tiny kitchen and know that Spencer’s popped in again.

Brendon’s not quite sure what to think of Spencer at first, because he’s a bit thingy about weird, overrated things like personal space and tends to punch Brendon’s leg when he tries to nuzzle Spencer’s neck, but after a while he grows used to the empty threats and decides that he likes him, after all, and then Spencer’s stuck with him.

Once the three go to see a band and Brendon starts feeling sorry for Jon (who also takes college far too seriously and spends too much time studying) and insists that they go back to his dorm to visit him. Jon’s sprawled on his bed reading some textbook, but when he looks up Spencer sort of blinks and then looks down and Brendon has a feeling he’s just done something vaguely brilliant.

The night ends with Ryan and Brendon slumping on Brendon’s couch half-asleep (okay, Ryan’s completely asleep, with his head on Brendon’s shoulder, and Brendon’s counting the spots on the ceiling and wondering how to get rid of the crick in his neck without Ryan waking up) while Spencer and Jon sit on the floor on the other side of the (tiny) room talking and talking and talking.

Eventually at about half past four Ryan stirs and murmurs, “Now you’ve gone and let your friend steal Spencer,” and Brendon yawns, “We can get him back easy if we want.”

They shift apart and fall asleep head-to-toe on the sofa, and miss the whole morning of classes. Due to possible superhero powers that have been festering in them for a long time, neither Jon or Spencer slept that night or felt in the least bit tired – Brendon is woken finally by Jon ringing to say he’s going out for coffee and he won’t be home for a while.

“Where’s Spence, d’you know?” Brendon blinks, trying to wake up properly.

There is a long pause down the end before Jon says, “He’s with me,” and then when Brendon doesn’t stop laughing for three whole minutes Jon hangs up. Brendon can imagine him rolling his eyes and wakes Ryan up to discuss whether they should be mature about this (well, Ryan discusses this; Brendon grins and says “not a chance in hell” a lot) or not.

Brendon wins the argument, of course. But then he usually does.

 

 

 

One night Brendon goes up to his dorm and Jon only opens the door a little bit and grins at him and says, “Go room at Ryan’s tonight, Urie,” and Brendon shouts “Are you there, Smith?” Spencer yells back “Piss off!” and someone _else_ from upstairs yells “Shut up, some of us are trying to sleep!” and Brendon thinks perhaps it’s best he goes to Ryan’s after all.

He lies on the couch but can’t get comfortable, and eventually tiptoes into Ryan’s room. He crawls up beside Ryan and under the covers, tucks his head under Ryan’s chin and sneaks his arm around his waist. Ryan mumbles something and then sighs and drapes his arm lazily over Brendon’s shoulders.

When Brendon wakes up there’s a post-it note stuck to his forehead that says: _gone to class, your fault if i fail this test, fell out of bed three times last night you fucker. milk in fridge, nesquick on counter._

Brendon rolls onto his back and wonders, glaring at the ceiling, how he got stuck in some kind of husband-and-wife thing (and Brendon’s _totally_ the husband) without even having been kissed yet.

 

 

 

Ryan is totally a tease. Like, _totally_. The teasiest tease Brendon has ever met. He’s spent the _whole weekend_ trying to get Ryan to kiss him (and okay, maybe sitting on Ryan’s lap and announcing, “So, you should make out with me now,” wasn’t the _subtlest_ idea but it was so cute of him), and every time Ryan’s grinned and shoved him away and then gotten up to make more coffee.

And it’s really, _really_ unfair. _God._

Especially because Ryan has apparently made up his mind to spend the weekend looking as hot as possible; strumming his guitar constantly with his long fingers, writing in his little black notebook and sucking on candy far too thoroughly to be healthy.

After a while of thinking devious thoughts and trying to work out the best way to get some, Brendon starts wondering why Ryan stood him up that time, and he shakes Ryan awake at half past four in the morning, whispering, “Ry, Ry, Ryan-Ryan-Ryan, Ry, Ry, Ry,” until Ryan finally shouts “fucking _what_?” and Brendon grins at him in the dark.

“Remember that time when you banged me into the door and told me you’d meet me at three thirty because I always come then? Remember?”

“What?” Ryan says stupidly, voice thick with sleep. “Wait – don’t talk so – so fast – what?” Brendon repeats it all again, slowly, and Ryan sighs and rolls over, cheek against Brendon’s arm. “I noticed you one time, and thought you looked cool, so I came in every day at three thirty, because _you_ came in at three thirty, and tried to work out how to say hi.”

Brendon frowns and tries to process this idea for a moment. “Wait, what? _I_ came in at three thirty every day because that was when _you_ were there, not the other way round!”

But Ryan is asleep again, and when Brendon tries to shake him awake he rolls over and mumbles, “I swear, Bren, if you don’t let me sleep I will _break_ your pretty face.”

Brendon considers chanting “you called me pretty, you called me pretty”, in his favourite schoolgirl manner, but decides it’s probably safer to just go to sleep again.

 

 

 

The next night he stays in his dorm with Jon, and when Ryan rings up he makes some vague excuse to not hang out with him, deliberately making it hollow. Ryan sounds confused and a little bit hurt at the end of the line, but Brendon makes a stern face at himself in the mirror and mouths _absence makes the heart grow fonder_ fiercely before he lets Ryan’s face get to him and relents.

For the next week he completely avoids any place where he’s likely to run into Ryan (which pretty much means spending the whole time in his dorm, and even that’s not that fun because Jon spends a lot of time staring balefully at him), and doesn’t answer his cell _at all_ , and once when Ryan comes around – and this he does feel really bad about – he spies him out the window and hides under his bed and pretends that he’s not here.

After a week and a half of wondering whether he’s being too much of an asshole, of staring at his phone debating whether to call Ryan or not, and covering his ears with his hands whenever Jon tries to talk to him about it chanting, “you’re ruining the plan, you’re ruining the plan”, (and waking Jon up at odd hours of the night whispering “are you _sure_ Spence doesn’t have a key for here? are you? he’ll kill me, Jon, you’re sure?”) Brendon decides it should be safe to venture outside for a while.

And he’s sort of missing the Starbucks hot chocolate, so, noticing that it’s eleven-fifteen and there’s no way Ryan would be there, he sneaks furtively out of the building and into the city. (Later, he will realise that he could have just gone to a local store, and he has a terrible feeling he’s becoming a creature of habit.)

Jon looks delighted when he comes in, and Brendon is almost immediately uneasy, but in the few seconds of conversation they have before the next customer Jon acts normal as ever. There is a slight spark of mischief in his eyes that Brendon doesn’t like, but he supposes he’ll get over it.

He finds a seat in the corner and sits down, musing on the Ryan Problem and wondering whether this really is as stupid a thing as Jon keeps telling him it is. The trouble is it’s impossible to look at it in a detached way because whenever he attempts to do that he always gets distracted by the flippy hair thing Ryan has a habit of doing or the way he bites his lip. Damn it.

At that moment someone slides next to him and long fingers curl warm around his wrist. He jumps and looks up, and Ryan is watching him with huge eyes and a blank face that doesn’t let Brendon know for a second what he’s thinking.

“How did—” Brendon began to stammer, and Ryan interrupts him, voice low and dark.

“Jon called me.”

“Er,” Brendon says, and looks away.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Ryan tells him.

Brendon screws up his face, childlike. “I have not. I’ve been busy.”

“Come on,” Ryan says, and drags him to his feet. Considering how slight he is, Ryan is surprisingly firm when he wants to be, and Brendon thinks that now is perhaps not the best time to argue. He contents himself with craning over his shoulder to where Jon is beaming sadistically at him and waving very slowly and dramatically. Brendon pouts.

Outside, Ryan leads him quickly through the bustle of the main street. Along the way, Ryan’s finger slip from Brendon’s wrist into his hand, and they’ve locked their fingertips together while Brendon’s brain is still going _wait what_? Ryan makes a sharp turn into a little side alley and then they’re staring at each other.

“Well?” Ryan snaps eventually.

There is a long pause in which Brendon carefully avoids Ryan’s eyes, before he says “Well what?” in as neutral a voice as he can manage.

“Why are you avoiding me?” Ryan says, and steps a little closer. Brendon is uncomfortably aware of the wall at his back and the way Ryan is chewing his lip and how they haven’t let go of each other’s hands yet. Brendon makes a small, dismissive noise that is meant to explain the whole thing away when accompanied with the shrug of his shoulders, but all Ryan does is step closer and start to smile.

“You’re not very good at dealing with shit, are you, Bren?” he almost murmurs, and Brendon realises with a start what the odd expression is in Ryan’s eyes; it’s fucking predatory, that’s what Ryan is, and Brendon wishes that Ryan would hurry the fuck up and kiss him.

Brendon’s free hand curls in the collar of Ryan’s hoodie and Ryan suddenly smiles, almost sheepishly, and kisses him very, very gently, releasing Brendon’s hands and fingers coming up softly to brush against Brendon’s jaw. It’s weird, how far apart they are still, considering everything, but Brendon makes a small noise (and is almost immediately shocked at himself) and Ryan steps closer, pushing him harder against the wall and pressing a leg between Brendon’s.

“Er,” Brendon says, breathless, when they break apart, and this close Ryan is all huge eyes and eyelashes and mouth, and then Brendon leans forward again and their foreheads bump painfully but he’s kissing Ryan again and if somebody had told him that this was what it was like, kissing Ryan, he would have done it a lot sooner.

“Er,” he says again, when they come apart needing air, close, close. “Um, so when did you stop – when did you – why did you do—”

He shuts his mouth, deciding that verbal diarrhoea probably isn’t the most attractive thing after a first kiss, but Ryan is laughing softly into his cheekbone.

“Hi,” Ryan whispers. “I’m Ryan Ross. I like Fall Out Boy almost but not quite as much as you.”


End file.
